


Icon Drabbles

by elderwitty



Category: A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte - Georges Seurat, Dresden Files, Simon and Simon (TV), Stargate Atlantis, Supernatural
Genre: Challenge Response, Drabble Collection, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-28
Updated: 2011-06-28
Packaged: 2017-10-20 19:43:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elderwitty/pseuds/elderwitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>There was an icon drabble challenge.  Unhobbityhobbit challenged me.  Do you think she regrets it?  :D</p>
    </blockquote>





	Icon Drabbles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unhobbityhobbit](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=unhobbityhobbit).



> There was an icon drabble challenge. Unhobbityhobbit challenged me. Do you think she regrets it? :D

"Hmm?  Uh, yeah, okay.  Sure."

John's warm laugh made me look up; across the tiny potbelly that Sheppard tries to suck in whenever he thinks I'm looking at it, over the nipples made pert by the chilly water, up the gorgeous column of his eminently lickable neck, only stopping at his sparking eyes after a brief perusal of his fondly smirking bottom lip.  _Fond smirking...how does he do that?_  

"What's so funny?"

"I have to wear these shorts more often.  You just agreed to learn to surf."

"What?!"

He nods and grins, the unrepentant bastard.  "And to have lemon meringue pie with dinner tonight."

You'd think a military-trained guy like him would have seen that tackle coming.

 

 

One day Dean will learn not to taunt witches.  Today is not that day.

He accused her of _looking old enough to be my grandmother_.  She made his mental age that of her actual grandson.  Me?  She said she liked me, so the spell will only last for a week or so.  A six-one six-year-old for six or seven days.  Does 'like' mean 'loathe' in Wiccan?

  
(I know there's is no language called Wiccan - I'm just playing in Show's [inaccurate] sandbox.  :- >   )

 

 

" _How many people could be going by train?_ , you said.   _There'll be plenty of seats left on the day_ , you said."

"A.J., what are you muttering over there?"

"Just wondering for the millionth time how we're related."

"Well, how was I to know this Komagon thing was so popular?"

"Comic-con, Rick.  Comi...."  <gasp>  <hacking cough>

"What?!  Are you okay?"

<more coughing>  "...bug..."  <cough>

"Ah, finally.  Some peace and quiet."

 

 

If you're a wise ass, they don't see you scheming.  
If you're a wise ass, they can't see you hurting.  
Which is more important?  I'll give it some serious thought as soon as I get these shackles off.

 

 

Oh, no, not again!  I thought I was finally safe.  It's dark, and more than a little dirty here, but at least it's _dry_.

We all wondered what it was like outside our bendy windows.  I was so happy to be picked; so eager to see.  I just wish that one had come back to warn us...how they'd grab and strip, try to suffocate me in piles of burning hot, clinging fire.  Or worse, stick me in the freezing muck and leave me there.  And, as if that weren't bad enough, surround me again and again in heat and wet and suction, sometimes scraping the crushers across before teasing me with a taste of freedom and clean air.  If I'd known, I'd've burrowed to the bottom of the pile and never looked up.

I thought that once I'd made it under the long ledge I'd be safe, but I'm pulled out and slid into the dark wet again.  AGH!!! the crushers!!  and hitting and flying toward the weird slanting wall...ugh!  OW!!  But, hey, I'm back under the ledge again.  I hope they leave me alone for good this time.  I just want to go home to the bin.

 

  


_"Hé, Bill.  Comment vous auriez pour obtenir cette tâche ?  Singe du votre cousin ?  Singe - qu'est ce qu'a été ?  Je croyais il que kid brutal de dans la ruelle.  J'espère que ce gars se termine bientôt.  Je peut à peine attirer souffle dans cette corset.  Les choses sont beaucoup moins formelles à la maison, si vous savez ce que je veux dire.  Et vous avez vu de sa peinture ?  Il n'est pas encore un bon peintre, seulement daubing points partout.  Encore, tant que son argent de la bonne et que nous recevons notre déjeuner je peu importe, je suppose.  : Snort : Droit !  Que feriez-vous avec un chapeau haut même si elles permettent de garder ?  Seigneur, vous êtes un drôle d'un seul, Bill._

_"HÉ!!  Ramener qui !  Qui vous a fait voir ?  Il a pris ma fleur !  Il est un singe Coquine! ".  
_

(It should be obvious that I don't speak French.  ↑That↑ is the online translation of ↓this↓.)

  
"Hey, Bill.  How'd you get this gig?  Your cousin's monkey?  Monkey - that's what that was?  I thought it was that rude kid from across the alley.  I hope this guy finishes soon.  I can barely draw breath in this corset.  Things are a lot less formal at home, if you know what I mean.  And have you seen his 'painting'?  He's not even a proper painter, just daubing dots all over.  Still, as long as his money's good and we get our lunch I don't care, I guess.  :Snort:  Right!  What would you do with a top hat even if they let you keep it?  Lord, you're a funny one, Bill.

"HEY!!  Bring that back!  Did you see that?  He took my flower!  He's a cheeky monkey!"


End file.
